I'm going to have my way with you
by Deadeye47
Summary: England's sick again, France finds himself bored and at the ill man's beside. Who can resist such an orgasmic face? France sure can't. Rated T for France's mind, pants, tongue, hands, and everything else. FrUK with super perverted France.


**This is my first Hetalia fic, so don't blame me if I get this all OC.**

**Yeah, based on that episode in which England is sick with France looking over him, France's eyes gleaming at the prospect of "Having his way with him", until America bursts in and slaps fast food on England forehead. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own shit. **

**XXX **

France sighed lazily, twirling a piece of blonde hair between his fingers absentmindingly. Today was boring, positively boring. He was wandering the hallways, his mind drifting in and out between memories and wonders.

Where was England by the way? He should be out and screeching by now. The rest of the place was quiet, although France was sure he couldn't be the only nation around, right?

Damn he shouldn't be curious, shouldn't be walking to England's room to check up on him. But France was bored and secretly, he was worried about the tea drinking git. Of course, France would never admit it, he'd keep it deep down inside and go flirt with some big breasted blonde, pushing England out of his mind once again. France knew he had a problem, had a problem because he stared at England across the room and had steamy dreams about him every Friday night. Perhaps it was karma getting back at him for all his leechering over the years, making him become interested in a _real _relationship with another country, Britain nonetheless!

He came to the room quicker than he supposed, immersed completely in thought until his eyes reached the familiar white door. Familiar? What? Oh that's right, he'd stare at the door sometimes, biting his bottom lip and wondering if he should go in and molest the stubborn man in his sleep. But he didn't, never did.

"England?" He asked quietly, tapping on the door. It was silent, France almost thought to leave. He moved his hand down the twisted knob, pushing it slightly. The door gave off a small squeak and dragged on the rug.

The room was tidy, as usual. Two small chairs, green and woven with golden designs, adorned by small end tables and one largely sculpted middle, wooden table. In the center of the room, laid a square bed, held in a simple, oak bed frame. The subject shivering inside the bed, well, that was a little bit more concerning.

His cheeks were flushed, his skin covered with slick sweat. The sheets were twisted around his shaking farm, the comforter slipping off the side. His entire face was morphed into anguish, his mouth open slightly to let out short, gasps of breathes.

France walked over to the side, placing his cool hand onto the Brit's burning forehead. England tossed in his sleep, a moan escaping his chapped lips. Although France was extremely concerned for his friend, as his fever was extremely high, he couldn't help himself.

Those flushed cheeks, parted lips. A breathy moan. A hot room, bodies' intertwined, skin on skin…..

France smirked wickedly. England underneath his beautiful form, writhing gasping for release. What a fantasy, seeping into every pore in his body and setting his pants absolutely tight.

"Oh hon hon hon hon, now I'm going to have my way with you.." His eyes gleamed maliciously, his perverted smile twisting it's way higher and higher on his face.

First things first though. He trotted to the door, closely it softly and locking it securely. Last time he had been interrupted by a certain American idiot, no, not again. Not when he was so close to dipping into his wildest fantasy.

He then scampered off to the bathroom, running a washcloth under cool water and twisting off the excess. Oh! Curtains. He dashed back, placing the washcloth on the bed and literally pulling down the blinds in a quick, forceful motion. Perhaps he was getting too excited about this.

Nah.

He swivled back to England, tapping his shoes against the carpet and brushing a luscious lock of golden hair out of his face. He sat on the bedside, grabbing the washcloth and pulling the flushed body closer to him. England writhed again, seemingly agitated by even the simplest disturbance.

Fantastic.

As France _was _worried about his condition and extremely interested in fulfilling his way with England, he decided to balance the right from the right. He started at the bottom of his buttoned, striped pajama shirt. He carefully fingered the buttons of the shirt, lifting them one by one as his thin fingers traveled upwards. England breathed deeply, too dazed to notice France carefully undressing him. He pushed the dirty sides of the shirt aside, letting them slide off his sides. He pushed his hands underneath the top of the shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. England shook again.

"Don't worry, you'll be nice and cool soon" He murmured reaching for the washcloth. He started at the base of England's soft, creamy skin. It was so smooth, why hadn't France noticed before? The most beautiful being in the world.

England flinched as soon as the fabric reached his skin, France tracing it upwards slowly and grinning. England groaned, tossing his head to the side. France quickly made a mental image in his mind, spreading his legs a little wider and using his free hand to keep him in place, letting it softly sit on his chest. England breathed deeply, letting out a subconscious cough. France was slightly surprised he hadn't become slightly aware of France's misgivings just yet, but he wasn't complaining.

He slowly moved the cloth up his skin, dipping it down around his sides and bringing it back up to his chest. England shook and shivered, his head turning to the side.

"You naughty thing, you're just begging for it"

His 'sharp' eyes caught the sight of water dripping down his chest, making small trails on his skin. Now France just couldn't leave England with water dancing all over his skin right? That wouldn't be right now would it?

He dipped his head down slowly, pushing out his tongue from silken lips and tracing the water up his skin. England let out a particularly raspy moan at that. Was he enjoying this? Had France pushed him into some sort of wet dream?

Oh god he was going to rip his pants.

He pushed the washcloth up even more now, letting it wrap around his neck. He pulled it back for a moment, admiring his fantasy in mid gasp. France checked his temperature again.

"Ahh much too warm.." He clicked his tongue and moved the cloth up to his face, quickly wiping his cheeks and then placing the cloth on his forehead to rest. He pushed himself onto the bed, placing two legs on either sides of England's lithe frame. He moved his hands to either sides of his head, resisting the urge to cup his flushed cheeks and pull him up for a ravishing kiss.

France would admit he was a dirty man, some may even say a threat to human chastity everywhere, but he couldn't bring himself to reach down and ravish the poor man senseless, if England were to awaken, see him, wouldn't he hate him? Although France was pretty certain that he would probably loose his balls if England ever found out about this. Instead he settled for staring down at his favorite fantasy, his absolutely organismic face. France really, really wished he had a photogenic memory. He traveled his eyes down to his open chest, silky skin begging to be touched.

Still encased in his fantasy, France hadn't noticed that two glazed eyes were staring at him curiously.

"France, you git, what are you doing?" A raspy voice called out, stunted by a sudden cough.

France froze. Trying to push up his signature 'hon' through his mouth. But he couldn't. He licked luscious lips and quickly rolled off England, straitening his jacket and opting to sit on the bedside, his legs and crouch out of England's sight. He was silently praying to god that Britain wouldn't notice his exposed chest….

"Nothing! How are you feeling?"

England gulped, rubbing his throat. "Terrible, although I do feel much cooler than I did before…" He trailed off, France too shaken to notice a blush make it's way onto his cheeks, clearly distinguishable from the flushed cheeks.

"Ah that is good, shall I get you anything?" France asked nervously, hoping Britain hadn't been awake for _too_ long.

He coughed. "I took some medicine earlier, it should be in the bathroom" He pointed feebly, slowly removing the washcloth and forcing himself up.

France nodded quickly, dashing into the room and snatching the bottle of orange colored liquid. He poured some for his sick friend, pushing it into his shaking hands.

"Thanks" He stated afterwards, wiping his lips.

France grunted and placed the medicine on the stand.

He furrowed his unusually loud eyebrows. "France, why exactly are you here?"

"To look up on you of course, but I really must be going" He jumped up, almost tripping over his own feet. Why did he have to have such complicated problems? He could flirt with anyone, he'd had relationships, dirty affairs, friends with benefits…

But England made him feel like a giddy schoolgirl at times. Especially after he'd woken up mid-fantasy.

"You're leaving? How long have you been here?" He asked cautiously.

"Not long! Not long at all" France suppressed the urge to look at England's face again and raced to the door, unlocking it and pushing it open.

England waited for the door to click shut, for hurried footsteps to rush down the hallway.

His face turned into a darker shade of red, his body shivering not only with illnesses but also with embarrassment it isn't everyday that one wakes up to find France licking up their chest.

Of course, England thought that perhaps, perhaps.

He'd tell France sooner than later that he loved him.

**XXX. **

**I am an awkward person, god this was just. The dirtiest thing I've ever written, although I've read **_**much **_**dirtier! FrUk all the way, now review or France will come in and molest you. **


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